


degausser

by rachhell



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Background Het, Cheating, Craig Tucker Being An Asshole, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Failed Relationships, Heartbreak, I have no idea what I'm doing, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Moving On, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, One Shot, Self-Destruction, Smoking, This is really personal ok, Trichotillomania, hipster!kyle, i'm sure craig would tell it differently, like i cried writing this, moving back in with your parents in your late 20s because you suck at life, this is only one side of the story, tweek is kind of an asshole too tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachhell/pseuds/rachhell
Summary: snapshots of a relationship that never was, a stifling, small town, and a life that he never wanted to live.degaussing : "the process of decreasing or eliminating a remnant magnetic field."





	degausser

**Author's Note:**

> Tweek gets out of South Park, but only for a while. Many of the others never do. This is set when the characters are in their late 20s. People grow up, and people change. I maybe should've written this in second person, but did not want to be cliche. Tweek's POV throughout. It's kind of free-flowing, weird and disjointed, and there are a lot of "he" pronouns thrown about but y'all are smart, you'll figure out.
> 
> Warning: bleak as fuck.

\---

 

Craig messages him on Facebook at two in the morning on a Wednesday. _Why are you still up._ And he replies, _why are you?_

 

\---

 

They message for days, the days turn into weeks, which turn into months, nonstop, as if they never fell out of touch. He tells Craig about leaving Thomas, Craig tells him about Jenny walking out, they are both so unhappy, they are both fucking miserable, they are lost, they are the same. He’s going to come home, to get out of Boulder, he can’t do this anymore, can’t live with the man he no longer loves and he will be home as soon as he can and when that day comes he hopes to God that Craig is around.

 

\---

 

He goes out and that’s where he tells Thomas he is going. _Out. Don’t text me. Don’t stay awake. I d-don’t want to see you when I’m back, JESUS CHRIST DON’T PRESSURE ME_ . He stays with any man who will have them so he doesn’t have to return. Or he stumbles home, and takes the couch. His back hurts and his head and his _soul_ hurts and he can never sleep like he used to. He goes to work hungover. He spills a customer’s latte on his shoes. He is short with patrons, with management, with coworkers; the latter at least know of the breakup. Thomas takes over the lease; they hug, for the last time, and wish it hadn’t ended up like this. He texts Craig while he sits at the bars. He doesn’t tell him about where he goes afterward.

 

\---

 

They send snapchats to each other at work, at home, of the video games they’re playing, of their drinks, food, pictures and videos of friends neither one has met but both feel like they already know, and of people he hasn’t seen in years. Good morning texts, every morning. Good night, every night. He wants to be there, with Craig. He needs to. _You’re welcome anytime. The door is open._

 

\---

 

_you have no idea what i’m going to do to that ass of yours._ Discreet pictures snapped in the Harbucks men’s room of hollow hipbones and a barely-visible trail of blond hair leading down to straining, tight, bright blue boxer briefs. Brazen ones in Craig’s full-length mirror, all abs and dark hair and smirks. _tell me when you’re about to come so i can too_ and _do it now. fuck i wanna taste it_ and _i have to get there_ and _i need you here now, i wish you were here with me right fucking now. my bed is so empty._

 

\---

 

He comes back to his hometown one weekend, a month or so before the move is completed, before his transfer to assistant manager of the South Park Target’s Harbucks is finalized. He tells his parents it’s for them, to bring some things over. It’s for Craig. It’s all for Craig and it always has been. They have drinks and do-you-remembers and did-you-hears. He learns Craig is friends with Cartman now - _w-WHAT? Jesus, man! - No, he’s cool. It’s not like when we were kids. He’s okay. Still doesn’t mean I’ll forgive him for that Peru bullshit. -_ He learns Craig wanted to go to engineering school instead of ending up as a mechanic - _fuckin’ South Park. It holds everybody back. I’ll never get out of here_.

All the while, the air is humid with lust. _A-are you still gonna. Ngh. Kiss me? If I smoke?_

_Yes._

 

\---

 

Craig’s house truly is empty. Jenny took almost everything. They’re on Craig’s sectional and they let the menu of whatever blu ray Craig had put on run in the background, having diverted their attentions to each other midway through. They’re drunk enough to be honest and uninhibited, but not too drunk to remember it all. _I’ve wanted to do this since we were fake boyfriends_ . Craig’s hands are gripping into his untamed hair and are scratching down his back and are on his throat just like he said he wanted - _be still, I’ve got you -_ Craig is doing everything he wanted him to do, and it’s more than either could have ever imagined.

_Me too. Oh - Jesus fuck don’t stop - me too._

 

\---

 

His hometown is a whirlpool current of strange and he had to fight like hell not to get sucked back in but here he goddamn is; sometimes he wishes he were back with Thomas, there was no happiness, there was no passion, no love but there was also a _city_ with _life_ and _culture_ and he wasn’t in his childhood room with unwanted childhood memories, he wasn’t being haunted by the ghost of who he used to be, who he battled to leave behind when starting anew. In this town, he is just _the Tweek boy_ , crazy Tweek, the kid who sees gnomes and tics and yells about the government and rips out his hair. He couldn’t make it, he _failed,_ he fails at _everything, you loser, you couldn’t make it as an actor and you couldn’t make your relationship work, your degree was a waste, your life is a waste, running home to mommy and daddy at 28, have fun working at Harbucks for the rest of your life GOD._

Then, for the first time since high school, his fingers twist around a single blonde strand and yank. And again. And again. He keeps his hair long. It’s only in the very back, behind the ear, so nobody notices.

 

\---

 

_I like what we have. I don’t want to rush it._ Craig only says serious things at the most inopportune times. They’re laying in Craig’s bed, skin slick with sweat and come, and he’s still shaking and all he can say is _okay._

 

\---

 

_You know you’re welcome here, honey, your dad and I love you so much. But please just pull your weight around here, OK? You’re spending so much money on going out, and your dad and I would really appreciate some help with groceries. Ok sweetie?_  

He stays at Craig’s most nights. He cannot be in that place his family calls _home._

 

\--

 

Heidi leaves Cartman - everybody saw it coming, except Cartman. Cartman moves into Craig’s large house - he needs somewhere and Craig needs rent money and _it makes sense, Tweek. I don’t understand why you’re so upset_ . He fucking hates Eric Cartman. _Misogynistic manipulative antisemitic entitled fatass brat FUCK why aren’t I the one living there I’m there every day what the FUCK_ but he tries to get along because it’s Craig and he loves him and he cares and they should all be friends and eventually, they kind of are. They’ll go do things together and he puts up with it because Eric is Craig’s friend. He has to. When he sees Craig and Eric out on Eric's never-ending snapchat story, he feels more than a twinge of jealousy. _Why can't I be there, too?_

He still doesn’t trust Eric. He never learns to.

 

\---

 

Craig’s hands are tied to the bedposts - _I can’t believe you're using me like this_ \- Craig’s nasal monotone but a whisper infused with sheer wonder and absolute want.

_About time it’s my turn. You know you’re mine, right?_ There is no hesitation, his voice does not catch; it is even, smooth, and sure. He nips Craig’s neck, right behind the ear, right _there_ , where it makes him go absolutely crazy.

_Ohh god. Yes. I am._

_Say it._  

_Yours. Always yours. I’ve always been yours._ And oh my god he wants to untie Craig and hold him and say love you love you loveyouloveyouLOVEYOUSOMUCH but, right now, he wants _this_ more.

_Oh yeah? I don’t believe you. If you want it, you’ll have to beg for it. You heard me. Beg._  

And, god, does he ever.

 

\---

 

_I’m FREAKing out that I’m asking you this, man, but. Ngh. I-I- why don’t we just go for it? We’re already there. We LIKE each other. You said you like me, I guess, I mean, what I’m asking…. will you be my boyfriend-or-or-whatever. Gah!_

_-I’m not ready.-_

 

\---

 

Craig is never ready. The town of South Park is beside itself that Tweek and Craig are seemingly back together. He almost wishes the Japanese girls were still around; he’d _totally_ give them something to draw. They see each other every weekend, and most weekdays he brings Craig lunch at the auto shop, they throw parties together, they go to dinner and cuddle in the movie theater, and kick each others’ asses at video games, and drink coffee from thermoses in front of Stark’s Pond, Craig pulls his old chullo hat over blonde hair instead of black, and kisses him on the forehead and says _be still. I’m here._ but Craig is still never _ready_ and _fuck_ is it ever infuriating.

He knew he was pushy and clingy but if he didn’t do it that _feeling_ in the back of his neck wouldn’t go away. If he didn’t check his phone and text Craig and check and check and check for a response, then Something Would Happen. He always thought Something Would Happen. A disaster, somebody would die, somebody would be hurt, his mom would be hurt, he had. to. check.

_You want to have all the benefits of having a boyfriend but without the commitment. It’s ridiculous. I bring it up, and you go silent, and the only time you bring up anything serious is after we fuck and it’s NOT OKAY. I never want to lose you as a friend either so this shit is just difficult for me, you know?_  Texting is easier. It’s how it began. Words don’t get caught in his mouth and he can control his volume.

_Tweek, it’s not a good time. I’m going to “go silent” again, for a while this time. Something bad happened. Can you call me?_

 

\---

 

It was an accident, just an accident, just one of those freak things. Cartman always took long showers, so Craig never thought to check on him, until it was too late. _They think he got stuck after he hit his head. You know. Because he was so big. He was face down. It didn’t hit me he was gone until they wheeled him out. Until I saw his face_

_Then how did you know. H-how. That he was._

_Because I couldn’t feel a pulse._

 

\---

 

Everybody comes back for the funeral, from everywhere. Kyle brings the very essence of Williamsburg, New York everywhere he goes; an aging PC Principal, in the same polo and sunglasses as always, Clyde and Marjorine, _together_ -together, _wait is that Daimen? ,_ and Heidi, looking like she expects somebody to attack her and that she should not be there. So, so many others. A family of large and boisterous Cartmans who treat Craig as their own. He is introduced as Craig’s friend or best friend or special friend and a bunch of stupid bullshit euphemisms and he wants to shout as loud as he can _I’M HIS FUCKING BOYFRIEND, OKAY? WHAT THE FUCK, CRAIG? WE’RE A FUCKING COUPLE, FUCK ALL OF YOU_ but he can’t, somebody _died,_ it is not the time or place. Liane Cartman’s eyes are just so lost, so vacant and he’s shocked when she grabs him by the shoulder and says _please be there for Craig_ and envelops him in a beautiful, motherly hug.

He wishes he were nicer to Eric when he was around and that he could’ve dropped that childhood grudge. He feels like absolute shit and he cries with the rest of them.

 

\---

 

_I don’t know how I’m going to do this. What do I do._ Craig’s questions always sound like statements.

_Craig? Please just look at me? O-okay? I love you. I’m HERE, okay? You're going to make it._

Craig looks, and says nothing. He wraps his arms, him _self_ , around Craig as silent tears come from empty grey eyes.

 

\---

 

_you might as well move in. I have the space._ They’re driving to Boulder and listening to that mopey indie shit Craig likes, he tells Craig to pull over and ravishes the _fuck_ out of him, not even bothering to unbuckle Craig’s seatbelt.

_Abso-FUCKING-lutely._

He moves in on a Saturday and for weeks it’s so amazing and _god Craig I love you_.

_I know._

 

\---

 

_I think we need to stop partying so much. I don’t think you’re doing ok. Are you ok, man?_

Of course he’s ok, he’s fine, everything is fine, and besides, Eric is gone now, somebody has to be fun, somebody has to keep it going, don’t let it die, don’t let it fall, don’t drop it, or Something Will Happen.

 

\---

 

The change comes quicker than he ever could have imagined. Craig gets home from work and plays WoW - _I can’t believe you still play that shit_. Doesn’t kiss him goodnight. Doesn’t touch him. Doesn’t look at him. He drinks in front of the television and scrolls through facebook on his phone, getting up only to smoke cigarettes and tap on the doorknob.

_Tweek, you wonder why I don’t want to fuck you anymore?_ _Because you’re not ok. You need help. I can’t do anything when you’re like this._

He stays up all night to make sure the stove is off, and the door is locked, and he drinks, and he pops adderall after adderall, and he goes to work with a racing heart and heavy bags under his eyes.

 

\---

 

_Quit asking me who I’m texting. It’s just somebody else. Have you looked for a place yet?_

Two weeks later, he sees a car pulling out of the driveway.

 

\---

 

_You fucking_ **_ASSHOLE,_ ** _Ike fucking Broflovski? Are you - NNNGH!! - fucking KIDDING me, h-e’s a CHILD, what the F-agh-FUCK? Fuck YOU, Craig._

 

_Yeah, well, he’s a hell of a lot more mature than you._

 

_Please, you guys, just STOP, okay? It’s Stan’s birthday and I came here to see all of you. Please stop._

 

_(I mean he has a point, how did Ike even --- ) (TOKEN, stop)_

 

_SHUT UP, BEBE._

 

_Tweek, come on-_

 

_Tweek, YOU shut up. You’re fucking drunk, again. Just get the FUCK. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE. Get out of my LIFE. I don’t WANT you here anymore, you’re fucking CRAZY AND YOU’RE RUINING EVERYTHING_

  _AND_

_I_

_NEVER_

_LOVED_

_YOU._

 

\---

 

Token and Bebe and Wendy go outside and Stan holds him back and Craig screams and screams and screams and he screams back and finally he snaps, he punches, it’s weak, it didn’t hurt, Craig doesn’t flinch; he stares at him, there is an emotion in his eyes he cannot pinpoint - regret, pity, what what is it why are you looking at me why is everybody always looking at me.

  _oh my god oh my god I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I didn’t want to hurt you_ and _Stan, stay here. I think that’s enough for me to call the police, right?_ It is. Flashing lights and cuffs and blue jumpsuits and he doesn’t want to remember he can’t remember don’t make me remember please _I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING_

 

\---

 

_The State of Colorado vs Tweek David Tweak. Charges: domestic assault, 5th degree assault, disorderly conduct. Mr. Tweak is to vacate Mr. Tucker’s residence, and have no contact with Mr. Tucker. We will send an officer with Mr. Tweak to Mr. Tucker’s residence to collect his belongings. Mr. Tweak is to keep all mental health appointments, remain law-abiding, and is forbidden from the possession or use of alcohol and any non-prescribed controlled substances._

 

\---

 

_You’re going to be ok, baby. Everything will be okay. I promise. You can’t live here again, but you can stay for a while._

_We love you, son. He’ll get what’s coming to him, someday._

 

\---

 

_I can’t do this I can’t do this I fucking CAN’T DO THIS SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS SHIT ALONE PLEASE GOD ANYONE SOMEBODY PLEASE_

He shakes and he rips at golden strands and he scratches his arms until they bleed and bangs his wrists on the table and his head on the wall and he smokes two packs a day but he never ever cries.

 

\---

 

He gets an apartment within a month and it’s two miles from work but of _course_ he cannot drive he’ll _fucking die fucking kill somebody i’m gonna CRASH i can’t HANDLE that shit are you kidding, I’m never going to get my license I can’t DO IT._ He waits for the lackluster public transportation in sub-zero temperatures or he walks, bundled in more layers than he thought possible; he can still feel the cold ground beneath his feet through heavy snow boots. His mother hires him an attorney who doesn’t seem to do much at all. He goes to work. He makes the coffee. He doesn’t know what else to do.

 

\---

 

Bebe messages him one day. _It’s okay. I’m not mad, and neither is Token. It was a fucked up situation, don’t worry about it, okay, honey?_   _Craig says he's really sorry. He wasn't thinking. He tried to drop the charges, but the state won't let him. He really hopes you forgive him._ They talk all the time, constantly, and he’s not supposed to talk about the legal shit especially with witnesses but _fuck it, someone is on my side_ and as he texts her on his walk through flipped-up mittens, he doesn’t feel so freezing.

 

\---

 

_The State of Colorado vs. Tweek David Tweak. Conviction: disorderly conduct: noisy/abusive/obscene. The court orders Mr. Tweak to one year supervised probation and a fine of one hundred and sixty five dollars. Mr. Tweak is to attend therapy until successfully discharged. He is to attend one day-long seminar for domestic violence offenders. He is to abstain from alcohol and non-prescribed controlled substances, and submit to random chemical testing. While Mr. Tucker no longer wishes to have contact with Mr. Tweak, the court does not believe a no-contact order is necessary. We’re assuming the feeling is mutual, correct, Mr. Tweak?_

 

_(nonononononononono please god no i need him i miss him please no)_

 

\---

 

They assign him a probation officer named Emily. _You got a raw deal, here. You mean this guy was bringing his new boyfriend over while you still LIVED there? No wonder you freaked out. Anyway, be careful of the cops in this town. They’re dicks._

_Y-you. You don’t think I’m a-abusive? I’m not - I’m not a batterer - I’m not - I don’t BELONG here, I -_

_Calm down, man. Shit happens. I’m just here to carry out what the courts assigned you to do. Let me know if this guy and his new child bride try and start anything. I’ll test you when you see me, but let’s try and make it so I don’t have to, okay?_

 

\---

 

The speakers throw around terms like _domestic abuser_ and _mentally unstable_ and _personality disorder_ and he wants to scream. He drums his leg up and down as fast as he can; his hands twist into his hair - he is able to stifle the other urge, he is getting better at that again - but the other men just look so terrifying, so tough, did any of those people with neck tattoos and missing teeth and pockmarked skin weakly, barely, punch their boyfriend, he didn’t think so, he doesn’t belong here, he never did, he never will, he didn’t _do anything wrong._ He doesn’t participate. He squeaks out a few affirmations if asked but he will NOT tell his story. He will NOT volunteer the information about which the imposing, brutal men surrounding him were so curious. There is blood on their hands, there is blood in the air and he can taste, it smell it, feel it. He will never be the same, never never never _never never NEV_

 

\---

 

Bebe brushes his hair and tames the knots and for once it is lush and full and laying in one direction, he looks like an angel and does not feel like himself. He is not himself. They make fun of bad movies, and they drink coffee in the backyard, and they walk to the drugstore and buy chocolate-covered pretzels, and they go to the mall and laugh at the clothes; he smokes cigarette after cigarette next to her on her porch, she doesn’t mind the smoking, she never minded. He pours his heart out and she is _there,_ she is light and softness, she is childhood, she is the first cup of coffee on a grey November morning, and she is _home._

_I would marry you if I liked women. We would be so good for each other._

He wonders why she still talks to _them_ why why, fucking WHY, _aren’t you my friend, aren’t you? Why, please stay, please don’t leave me like the rest of them_ and she will stay, and she does.

 

\---

 

_alprazolam - clomipramine - citalopram - buspirone - lamotrigine - zolpidem - prazosin -_ and he doesn’t care if it makes him into a zombie or into somebody else because that’s what he wants

 

\---

 

_THEY_ come into the coffee shop on a chilly April afternoon. All smiles and love and fuck he wants to die. He hides in the back room and hyperventilates and pulls out his hair while Kevin helps them with a smile  - _fuck you kevin fuck you craig FUCK YOU IKE I FUCKING HATE YOU HOMEWRECKING_ ** _FUCK_** \- he knows they know he’s back there, they know he works there, what are they doing what kind of game are they trying to play, they’re watching they’re always watching, they’re all watching, there are eyes spies everywhere oh GOD they

_they said they hope you’re doing okay_

 

\---

 

_I’m not gonna KILL myself, jesus! Just - ah - if something happened, like an accident, natural disaster, if somebody murdered me I would be o-KAY with that I would be HAPPY_

_I understand. It’s perfectly natural to feel that way. You experienced a trauma. Tweek, let me ask you something. Do you think that Craig might have projected his feelings about his friend’s death onto you? You have some very good insights, and seem to know yourself very well. I’d like to know what you think._

 

\---

 

He works, and he works, and he works. He takes on a second job in the evenings, at Whole Foods. 60, 70 hours a week, purposeful exhaustion, distraction, what else is he supposed to do? Bebe texts him every day; he calls his mother on his breaks while chain smoking on the bench behind the store. A concerned Facebook message from various Boulder friends every once in awhile but do they really _care_ , nobody _visits,_ nobody _FUCKing cares_ , he needs the man he loves, he needs his best friend, Craig is gone, Craig is never coming back _fuck i am so lonely i want to die i want to die i want to die i want to die i want to die i_

 

\---

 

Emily calls him on an August morning. _You’re eligible for early release. I don’t think we ever needed to worry about you._ He breathes.

He doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t drop anything that day. Not once.

 

\---

 

A man who comes into the coffee shop - large nonfat mocha no whip, Monday Wednesday and Friday - asks him on a date, and despite knowing it’s a terrible idea oh god what is he going to do on a date how does anyone even _do_ this, _too much fucking PRESSURE_ , he says yes. The guy is handsome, he guesses, he’s nice, he’s successful - a nurse, he learns - but his eyes aren’t a knowing steel grey and his hair isn’t a neat jet black, and nothing is the same and nothing is _right._ They see a movie, and get fajitas, and walk in the park in the early September sunset, and he says everything that he’s supposed to say, and for all intents and purposes it goes well, even if his mind is elsewhere the entire time. When he’s kissed at the end of the night, he kisses back; when he gets inside his dark apartment he turns on the shower high enough to turn his skin red and he scrubs until he is raw and he sits on the floor of the shower until the water runs cold, and _finally,_ at last, the tears come, they don’t stop until he is asleep in his bed, nude, curled up in a tight knees-to-chest ball, still sopping wet. That night he dreams of Red Racer reruns, coffee at Stark’s Pond at sunrise, weekend trips to Boulder for Craig to meet his friends, of Craig’s stony face illuminated by a phone screen as he pays attention to _somebody else_ , of sirens and lights, of broken promises, and of throwing a latte in Ike’s pretentious, floppy-headed Canadian face.

There is no second date.

 

\---

 

He wakes up screaming. He wakes up swearing, and sweating, and crying, until, one day, he wakes up. Without remembering the dream he had at all. Had he dreamt that night, for once, _they_ weren’t in it.

 

\---

 

_Tweek, buddy, you have GOT to get out of the house. Wanna knock back a couple?_ and he goes to a dive bar with Kenny. It’s his first time out since _it_ happened. They don’t talk about Craig. They play darts and he’s absolutely horrendous at darts but it’s _something_ , he listens to Kenny complain about his job at the gas station while he complains about helicopter moms with cookie-cutter haircuts and their half-caf-soy-extra-caramel-extra-hot-unicorn-trenta- _do-you-even-know-how-to-do-your-job_ drinks.They get 2 a.m. pizza and walk home on rain-slick sidewalks; they watch stand-up in his dirty apartment, and have conversations that only two childhood friends, drunk at daybreak, could have. Kenny sleeps on his couch, and never tries anything with him, and for that he is so grateful. On his rare days off, it becomes a regular occurrence. He doesn’t drink every time. They go bowling, they go to the movies; Kenny helps him sit in front of Stark’s Pond without running away for the first time in _so_ long and just _listens._ Jimmy often joins them; Token and Bebe when they’re up from Denver; Kenny’s sister Karen, and _it’s nice, there is no pressure_.

  _It’s something._

 

\---

 

Kyle comes home from New York for Thanksgiving and he only knows because he walks into the bar and the first thing Kenny does is laugh at the beacon that is Kyle’s bright red hair _what the fuck, Ky, is that a man bun? You look ridiculous_ . Kyle and Kenny hug, one of those manly bro-I’m-totally-not-gay-but-I-love-you-so-much hugs, Kyle sees him, says _hey, Tweek. I’m sorry my brother is an asshole._ Kyle has brought along a girl who has a septum ring and baby bangs and a seemingly permanent air of superiority, he notices the ring on her left hand - _it’s conflict free, isn’t it beautiful?._ He and Kenny share a Look. They can barely keep from laughing.

 But then Stan and Wendy show up, so he has to _leave. Now._

 He never notices that Wendy was waving hello.

 

\---

 

He wakes up with his alarm, thinking of nothing in particular. He goes to one job, then another. He drinks his coffee, smokes his cigarettes; he eats when he remembers to eat. He worries about rent, and student loans, and _oh FUCK, i left the stove on, the whole building is going to burn down and it’s going to be my fault_ but then he breathes and he remembers. He thinks about Craig, always, and his heart hurts, always, and he installs Grindr for about an hour before he deletes it. He can’t. He isn’t ready.

Now that the patches are filled, he decides to get a haircut.

 

\---

 

It is Christmas. They are at Token’s parents’ house - he has never seen such a tree, how much did they pay the decorators? - Token, and Bebe, and Jimmy, and Kenny, and Red, and Karen, and Kevin, and others he doesn’t know, and others he doesn’t remember.

_Are you sure? What if you want to look at them someday? Down the line?_

_Yes. I’m sure._

Bebe helps him delete all of the photos of Craig from his phone, until midway through he takes it from her.

_Let me do it. I can do this myself._

 

_\----_

**Author's Note:**

> I have never had the courage to post any of my writing, ever, until now, and I have been writing for fifteen years. If it was OOC at all, it's because I shamelessly based this off of my own life. These are the past two years of my shit existence (except Tweek has probably come farther along than I have, tbh) and I am using the characters as meat puppets to get it all out. Who is the same person now that they were at ten years old, anyway? 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
